The Billionaire Takes a Bride

“Maybe a rose?”

“He can grow something better than I can get at a nursery.” She looked glum. “I just want it to be special.”

An idea hit her, and Chelsea snapped her fingers. “What about a portrait?” At Gretchen’s skeptical look, she continued. “Sebastian does art. Incredible art. Sketches, mostly, but I bet he could do a finished piece of you for your wedding. We’re trying to talk him into doing the trading cards for our derby team.”

Gretchen drummed her fingers on her lips. “Like . . . boudoir art?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be—”

“No, I like it! And Hunter would blush like a madman, which means it would need to go in his office. Will you ask Sebastian about it?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Chelsea. “Pretty please?”

“He’s really shy about the art for some reason, but I know he would do it if it was for Hunter. I’ll tell him about it and feel him out.”

“Or feel him up?” Gretchen wiggled her eyebrows and then flicked the crown. “You’re keeping him busy.”

Chelsea grinned. “I sure am.”

The sedan parked, and Rufus and the driver got out, opening the doors for the women. They headed into the tiny bridal shop, where they were greeted by a cooing woman and ushered into a sitting room full of dresses and books. Taylor and Greer sat in the chairs, looking uncomfortable. Taylor had her phone out and was tapping busily at the screen, while Greer had a plastic garbage can held to her chin, a greenish cast to her skin.

“Oh my god, Greer, are you still sick?” Chelsea asked sympathetically. She sat down a few seats away from Greer and shook her head. “We could have rescheduled.”

“Just the car ride,” Greer said faintly, then gave them a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine in a few.”

“Wait. I thought you had the flu?” Gretchen thumped into her seat and hauled a catalog into her lap. “You said you were fine now.”

“I am fine. I was fine,” Greer corrected.

The bridal shop owner came over and clasped her hands together, giving them a bright-eyed look. “While I think about it, ladies, we have some fabulous bridal cake samples if you want to try a few flavors? It’s from a partner bakery and I think you’d love what they’ve got.”

“Ooo, cake,” Gretchen said, sitting up straighter. “Now you’ve got my attention.”

Greer made a hurking noise and clutched the bucket closer. Taylor scooted her chair a few spots away from Greer.

“Oh, damn it,” Gretchen said, her hands going to her hips. “Not you, too?”

“Not you what?” Chelsea asked.

“Fucking Greer is pregnant, too,” Gretchen grumbled. “Are all of my bridesmaids gonna end up knocked up before I go down the aisle? Because then we’re really going to have to go with an empire waist, and those look like shit.”

Greer gave them a wan smile and then began to puke again.

*   *   *

Several hours later, Chelsea said good-bye to Gretchen, her stomach full of cake samples and her clothes rumpled from changing in and out of dresses all afternoon. She’d tried on at least twenty different gowns, since both she and Taylor had been volunteered to be the models for the “team.” Greer had miserably puked all afternoon and ended up lying down on a sofa in the back with a wet cloth on her head. It had been a weird afternoon, but a fun one. As she entered the town house, she heard the strains of classical music through the walls, which meant that Sebastian was probably upstairs in his art room, sketching. She tossed her purse aside, pulled off the silly crown that Gretchen had given her, and headed up the stairs toward his room, thoughtful.

She couldn’t get Gretchen’s earlier comments out of her mind. I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun.

Her doubts had compounded in Chelsea’s mind until it was all she could think about. Such an innocent comment had turned into an obsession. They were together because they were faking it. Except they weren’t faking it any longer, and now Chelsea didn’t know where they stood.

And she was having all kinds of lust-and-love filled thoughts in his direction, and she still wasn’t sure if he thought they were back to the old arrangement of “just friends.”

Just friends who were married and happened to have scorching, mind-blowing sex. No big.

She was probably making too much out of it, Chelsea chided herself. She should just enjoy his company and what they had and not worry too much about putting it in the right “box.”